Colorless
by Dfsemina
Summary: They escape. They remember. But not all is well. The gallery was large but Guertena's gallery was massive. It wouldn't be far-fetched to think that others from the original gallery had been there but hadn't crossed their path. But what happens when they discover that Ib's parents are nowhere to be found?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Ib.

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><p>Chapter 1<p>

Garry stared the the door, frozen. Simple, green, no carvings or designs. A painted-on, white "27" and a standard grey doorknob. A swirling gust of wind weaved through the hallways, causing his keys to clack against each other like wind soft clanging of metal on metal startled him more than it should have and he jumped, keys slipping through his fingers and letting out a discordant sound as it collided into the ground. He picked them up, hands shaking, intaking a shuddering breath. Running his free hand through his hair he glanced around, hoping no one noticed him standing like a statue― hand outstretched, key in hand, unblinking―in front of his door for what he knew to be an excessive amount of time. He took another deep breath to steady himself and moved. In a single fluid motion―lest he become tempted to hesitate again―he unlocked the door, slipped inside, shut the door and locked it.

The tiny apartment was dark and the air thick with dust and heat. Dropping his bag carelessly on the tattered sofa, he moved towards the window. He nudged the curtains open, though it did little to brighten the room. He reminded himself, again, that he needed to buy window cleaner. Gripping the window with both hands he tugged, huffing in annoyance as it refused to open. He tightened his grip and yanked, putting his whole body into it. Garry thudded the floor as the window relented, slamming open, the sound bouncing off the walls. Light flooded into the room, making its condition plain. Clutter and second-hand furniture. Dust and discolored wallpaper. The added light made the dust visible in the air, sparkling like diamonds and feeling like them, too, as they traveled down his throat with every inhale. The wind, loud and blustering outside, didn't slip through the window as he intended, mocking him as the heat remained, thick and heavy. He left it open regardless and entered the kitchen.

He flipped the light switch, the area dimly lit by a single, uncovered bulb in the ceiling. The cupboard held a single box of macaroni, a small bag of sugar, and a box of peppermint tea. The cupboard was emptied as he placed all of the items on the counter and moved to the refrigerator. Relief flooded him as he saw the almost empty gallon of milk and stick of butter. They had enough for the night. With the exception of his shuffling about the kitchen preparing dinner, the apartment was silent.

Two pairs of mismatched bowls and mugs thudded as they were placed on the counter next to the sink. He pulled the only chair to rest in front of one of the servings, wincing as it scraped loudly across the floor. Plopping three textbooks and an old phonebook onto the seat, he left the kitchen and moved down the short hallway that had a door on each side. On the left, the bathroom, the door ajar. On the right, the only bedroom. He knocked and waited. Gaining no response, he opened the door, the old hinges creaking in protest.

He'd be inclined to believe the bedroom was empty if not for the tiny lump under the covers of the too large bed. As it was, one hand reached out to nudge the curled up form softly. Unbidden, a smile spread across his face as the top of a head slid out from under the covers, revealing messy hair and tired crimson eyes blinked hard, once, twice, before closing as she stretched out and yawned, arms emrging and stretching out from the blanket and legs uncurling. Looking at her stretched out over the bed, he noted absentmindedly that the bed could comfortably fit six of her, more if they all curled up when they slept, as was her habit. As he favored her with a simple smile as greeting and a muttered "Dinnertime," she kicked off the covers and hopped off the bed.

They walked into the kitchen together. Garry picked her up under the arms and sat her down on the books on top of the chair, not releasing his grip until he was certain they wouldn't topple, bringing Ib crashing with them. Not for the first time, he wished he had a proper table. He stood beside her, in front of his own plate. They ate side by side, as Garry filled the silence with tales of what he'd learned in class that day. As always, Ib listened attentively, interrupting periodically to ask for clarification on words she'd never heard.

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><p>Rinsing off the suds from the last plate, his eyes sought out the form of his friend. She huffed in frustration as she folded up the sleeves that refused to stay in place. She glared at them, seemingly trying to command them to behave. He turned away to put the plate in its proper place, but turned back around as a soft thud sounded behind him. Face down, hair splayed out all across the floor, lay a very annoyed Ib. Garry chuckled, walking over and kneeling beside her. He carefully untangled the bottom of the shirt she was wearing from her legs and helped her up.<p>

She frowned up at him, glaring, though her cheeks had a distinct rosy hue that betrayed her embarrassment. Affecting a severe look that was ruined by the endearing sight she made―arms she crossed, one sleeve already coming undone―she accusingly stated, "You're too tall."

"Yeah, I know," he replied, ruffling her hair fondly. "Why don't you change into your clothes and we'll go get you something your own size?"

She left the room to change, carefully holding the bottom of the shirt up, like a lady trying to avoid getting dirt on her dress. She didn't want another mishap. Pulling on her clothes, she wrinkled her nose in distaste. She'd been here a week now, and they had not yet been able to do the laundry. Looking herself over in the mirror she was grateful to find there were no stains or tears. She'd come out of the gallery sore and covered in bruises from being dragged, grabbed, and other forms of rough handling, but her clothes from the adventure had miraculously remained unscathed, if rumpled. The clothes were the only things she had left from Before the Gallery and she was adverse to the idea of tossing them. Hands moved over wrinkles without success and she went out to meet Garry.

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><p>Watching Ib disappear into a fitting room, Garry allowed his mind to wander. Looking around the small thrift shop, he frowned. He wished he could afford something better but his wallet wasn't that deep. Regardless, Ib seemed to take it in stride and managed to filter through to find things she liked. Collapsing onto a chair in front of the fitting rooms, he ran a hand through his hair as he thought of how everything had gone so wrong.<p>

_He stared at the statue in front of him. "Embodiment of Spirit," the plaque stated. An enormous rose bursting with life. The thin, thorny stem seemed inadequate to hold the bloom in place. Petals, bright red, were littered around it on the floor. Finding his eyes fixated on the fallen petals, he almost felt sad. His brow furrowed, he didn't remember walking here. He couldn't remember what he'd been doing before he'd stepped away from the "Fabricated World" painting. _

_He'd come to the gallery, shelling out money he was sure he should be saving. He'd wanted to see the new Guertena exhibit. An artist of many talents, Weiss Guertena had dabbled in many different techniques. As an aspiring artist, he'd hoped he could learn from his numerous creations. There certainly was quite a bit of variety among the deceased artist's creations. _

_He was roused from his thoughts by a tug upon his coat. Looking down, blue eyes met crimson as a young girl asked, "What does this say?"_

"_Embodiment of Spirit."_

"_Em-bah-dee-mint," she stated slowly. She looked to him in confusion._

"_It means 'to give form to,' 'to give body to.'"_

_Her expression didn't change._

"_Umm... think of an abstract idea." _

_She mouthed the word 'abstract,' brows furrowing._

_He winced, he was horrible at explaining things. "Uh... try feelings for example. You can't see them, They don't have a concrete form, or body. Like love. You can't see it, right? But it is commonly embodied by a heart. The symbol of the heart would be its embodiment... Understand?"_

_She nodded. _

"_Well, I need to go," he excused himself. He didn't really but he had no intention of standing in awkward silence with a child. "I'll see you around, Ib."_

_He froze, puzzled. Shaking his head, he turned to her. "Sorry, I'm not sure where that came from. I don't even know anyone named Ib." It definitely wasn't a common name._

_She pointed to herself._

"_You? Your name is actually Ib?"_

_A nod. _

_Huh, weird. He shoved his hands into his pocket, opening his mouth to say something else. He was distracted as his fingers touched something he was sure hadn't been in his pocket before. Pulling it out, it turned out to be a lace handkerchief. He turned it over in his hand. 'Ib' was embroidered into a corner of it and... Was that blood?Wait._

_Memories flooded his head. Hours of running through an alternate, more sinister gallery flitting through his mind. Oh._

"_I remember! You, you're Ib! And we―the gallery―I remember!"_

_Whispers around him caused him to blush. At this rate, he'd be kicked out or arrested._

"_I remember, Ib," he repeated softly. "Don't you?"_

_Shaking her head, she fiddled with her scarf, before looking down at her scarf. There was a slight bulge to her breast pocket that she'd felt as she had tugged at the red cloth around her neck. Reaching in she retreived a lemon drop. Popping the yellow candy into her mouth, he watched as realization dawned. Wide eyes met his._

"_Garry?"_

_He smiled and she leaped at him, wrapping her arms around him tightly. As the elation of the reunion faded, he took her hand and they went off in search of her parents. _

_It took them two hours to realize they were nowhere to be found. Unease curled within his stomach._

"_Maybe they went home?"_

"_Without you?"_

"_We only live a couple blocks away. They trust me to walk farther than that to get to school." _

_The fact that she'd never walked alone was implied. He just didn't have the heart to shoot the suggestion down without trying, especially with the hopeful look in her eyes. The heavy feeling in his stomach intensified. He hoped he was wrong. Two blocks later, he was proven right. They stood in front of a small, homely clinic. Ib was still, the same shocked terror in her eyes that he remembered seeing as the stood in front of a painting titled 'Couple.'_

_He kneeled and turned her so they were eye to eye. "We'll figure this out. We'll find them, okay? But for now, let's go to my place. We'll rest a bit and then we can put our heads together and make a plan. Alright?"_

_She nodded, eyes filled with tears. As he straightened, she held out her arms, more vulnerable than he'd ever seen her. He picked her up, easily. She buried her head into the crook of his neck; he could feel the tears against his skin. He held her closer, trying to shield her from the cold though he knew that wasn't the reason for her trembling._

"_We'll get them back. I promise."_

Startled by a tap on his shoulder, he looked up to see Ib, a small mountain of clothes in her arms. He paid for them and helped her put on her new red coat before leaving the store.

"Well, since we're already out, why don't we pick up a few groceries?"

Her smile was answer enough.

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><p>AN: I just had this thought occur to me and had to run with it. I hope you like it.

Thank you for being such lovely readers.

Until next time friendlies,

_Dfsemina_


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Ib.

Colorless

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><p>Chapter 2<p>

"_We'll get them back. I promise."_

He'd said it everyday since they'd escaped. But he wasn't sure he meant it. Getting into the twisted version of the gallery once already went against all logic. He wasn't sure if they _could_ get back in. Out of the hundreds of people who must have browsed the gallery that day, only a few―Ib, himself, and apparently her parents―stumbled into the dark mirror image of the exhibit. And even if they could return, would it be worth it?

He retrieved a pad of paper and a pen from his bag and handed it to her. "Why don't you write what you remember? We need a plan."

She sat, determination in her eyes, as she began scribbling on the paper. Garry turned away, throat closing up painfully.

She was so small, so good. He remembered how she'd behaved in the gallery. Making sure to keep them on track, leaving him believing, despite the insanity and chaos of their situation, the utter impossiblity of their predicament, that their escape was a foregone conclusion. Leaving was a matter of when and how, but there was no doubt of their eventual escape.

...but there were those moments. Fleeting thoughts she swatted away from him like a fly. Thoughts where, during his time wandering alone, he had felt despair at the certainty of his death. Feelings that should have—_would _have_—_weighed upon his mind the whole time had it not been for the tiny slip of a girl sitting on his tattered old couch. And here, in the Real World, he had never felt the fear and relief so acutely. Hindsight is 20/20 and Garry swear he could see all the little instances where things could have gone horribly wrong.

What if they had chosen to tear down the painting instead of setting it aflame?

What if he had not read the book which revealed Mary as a painting?

What if Ib did not confront the Lady in Blue for the rose of a stranger?

That last question weighed on him, bringing others. What would have happened if Ib was not stubborn and strong? It always came down to Ib, little though she was. Stronger than any little girl had reason to be. She had to set the painting on fire, essentially killing someone—it seemed—her own age, a friend. And he knew, even after Mary's crazed attacks that she was still that, a friend, to Ib. He knew it as he watched the tears roll over her cheeks as the fire burned brightly for only a moment as Mary screamed before leaving nothing but ash. Could feel it like a stab into the stomach, as Ib picked up Mary's palette knife and yellow rose then tucked them securely into her waistband. Heard it out loud as she ran a finger down the spine of a book called _How to Make Friends _and murmured, 'Best friends forever, Mary.'

"Gary?" Ib questioned, looking up at him with concern.

He shifted uncomfortably as he realized in his preoccupation he'd been staring. He cleared his throat, cheeks flushing with embarrassment, before he forced a smile onto his face to reassure her. He excused himself awkwardly. He walked into the kitchen where his eyes were drawn to the small vase on the countertop. A simple vase of clear glass. Within it, three roses. One blue, blooming and large. One red, young and small, barely starting to open from its budding stage. And finally, one yellow, beautiful but artificial, with no need for the water within the vase. He jumped as he heard muted thud from the living room and shook his head to clear it. He smiled bitterly as he thought perhaps it was a day for contemplations. He looked to the entrance of the kitchen and waited. Sure enough, not long after the sound of the soft thud subsided, he heard the pitter-patter of feet coming closer until Ib emerged into view, pad of paper in hand.

"Need something?"

She shook her head and and glanced up at the countertop. She walked passed him to where her chair remained at the counter near the sink from lunchtime, and pushed it towards the other side. She raised her arms to him, and he automatically picked her up. Checking to make sure the textbooks piled on the chair were secure, he set her down. He watched as she leaned forward in her seat to brush her fingers against the glass vase which had held his attention just moments before.

"Looking at the roses again?"

"What?" he asked, startled. He had not noticed he did so often.

She did not turn. She did not repeat her question. They both knew that he heard her.

"Yeah, I guess."

She turned in her chair to face him, intent red eyes prompting him to continue speaking.

"I just was thinking that it was odd that they stayed with us when we escaped. I thought that they would disappear. I mean, it's not like they show our well-being out here. Remember when you tripped and skinned your knee? No petals fell off of your rose. Just looking at them you wouldn't think there was anything supernatural about them."

She added, "They don't wilt like other roses either."

"What?"

"We've been back for months. Even in a vase with water, they should have died by now."

"Really?" He knew nothing of flowers.

She nodded, leaning out further in her chair so she could stroke the petals of the fake yellow flower. She looked sad.

"What's wrong?"

She shook her head.

"You can talk to me," he pleaded softly.

Hard red eyes looked up to meet his. "You haven't told me what's bothering you either."

He winced. She was a very astute child. He pondered whether he should have just let things lie before her sad expression flashed inside his mind again. He would be honest and confide in her, because they both needed her to confide in him. "You first."

Her eyes held his gaze for several seconds longer, gauging his honesty before she relented, satisfied. The sadness seeped back into her face. She was silent. He waited.

Finally after an extended period of heavy quiet, she spoke. "I broke my promise. I lied."

He moved to stand beside her, but did not touch her. She needed to speak first before he offered any comfort.

"She asked me to promise," she started, plucking the yellow rose from the vase and turning it in her tiny hands. "I promised that we'd all get out together. That we'd be best friends forever. But I-"

She was not looking at him anymore. He followed her gaze to his lighter. He would not make her say it. "Continue," he prompted.

"That's why I brought this," she nodded her head to the rose. "with us."

She slumped, finally allowing herself to cry. He gently coaxed the rose out of her hand and placed it back into the vase. Carefully, he lifted her into his arms. He held her, bounced her in his arms, shushed her, murmured all the comforts that came to mind until her sobs subsided.

"You didn't lie. And that promise, you've kept it the only way you knew how. I'm sure she would be able to see that. There are conditions for every promise, Ib. For this one, it was friendship. She released you from your promise the moment she decided to come after us."

She nodded, still sniffling. She looked up at him, nose red and lip trembling. "Your turn?"

"Not today, Ib. Crying makes you tired and you look exhausted."

She bit her lip.

"I'm not trying to get out of it, though I honestly wish I could," he assured her. "Tomorrow, okay?"

She hesitated before slowly nodding her head.

"Alright. Then shall I tuck you in then? It's getting late."

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><p>AN: Hey. It's been a while. I've been busy as of late. And I'll admit I've been on a bit of a fanfic binge for Harry Potter fics with the HHr pairing. Gotta love it. This is a bit short but it gets me to where I need to be. I hope you all are enjoying reading this as much as I am enjoying writing it. Much love friendlies.

Next chapter should be up by Tuesday at the latest. There should also be the next chapter of my fanfic _Aftershock _up by that time, if you follow it.

Thanks fellow fanfic readers,

_Dfsemina_


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Ib.

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><p>Chapter 3<p>

Ib had been sitting on the sidewalk for the last hour.

Looking at the homely clinic a fleeting thought crossed her mind. _It looks pretty. _Immediately, she felt guilty. It looked like one of the happy little cottages from the fairy tales her parents used to read to her. _Not used to, _she corrected herself viciously. _They will still read them when they come back. _She closed her eyes and thought of the home that had once stood it that very spot. She let the image solidify in her mind until she could have sworn it was real, until she could feel the roughness of the wooden door and the cool metal of the doorknob. Then she opened her eyes. The stubborn clinic still stood, mockingly, where her house should have been. She glared at the clinic, shifting its shape, texture, and color in her mind until it looked like her home. But then, a woman passed in front of her on the sidewalk, dispelling the illusion she so wished was real.

She stood, having had enough disappointment, and walked away.

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><p>Garry ignored the odd looks he got as he entered the bookstore still in his work uniform. It was embarrassing to shop while still in the ugly red vest with the 'Hello, My Name is Garry' nametag. But he worked late and had no time to change if he wanted to get there before closing. He'd just barely entered the store before a voice over the intercom stated that he only had a quarter of an hour before closing. He hurried over to the children's section. He scanned over the CD-ROMs, pausing over the title <em>Cluefinders: 4<em>_th__ Grade_. He grabbed it, along with _Jump Start: 4__th__ Grade. _He grabbed four more CDs of the same titles, two more of each, for fifth and sixth grade. He was glad he came to a bargain store and that CD-ROMs were no longer popular. Each one only cost two dollars. A difficult child, his mother used to buy him educational games as incentive to learn. He remembered how much he enjoyed them and how it helped him. He walked over to the clearance bin. He picked out two large books, compilation books. One contained the works of Lewis Carroll and the other had the stories of Hans Christian Andersen. He was sure Ib would get a kick out of Carroll's oddities. Andersen was a personal favorite. Over the intercom, the voice called the five minutes left until closing.

He went to the register. As the cashier rang up his purchase, his eyes were drawn to the line of stuffed animals that sat on a nearby shelf. A ragtag bunch, the regular teddy bears and dogs with the the less common giraffes and turtles. From behind a turtle he could see the flap of an ear. A bunny.

"Your total is $34.56."

He turned back to the cashier, who was looking at him expectantly. Flushing a bit with embarrassment he mumbled an apology to her and the people he was holding up in line as he moved towards the assortment of stuffed animals. On a whim, he shifted the turtle out of the way and took the only bunny of the bunch. He returned to the cashier and handed it to her.

"May I please add this to my purchase?"

She nodded and scanned it quickly. "Your new total is $39.96."

He paid and left, inwardly wincing at the price. It was a bargain certainly, considering the sheer quantity of what he had bought. But it was still more than he had planned on spending. He comforted himself with the thought that Ib would be happy. She had to have been bored, especially when he had work or school and was forced to leave her home alone. He wished, not for the first time, that she could go to school. But there was no record of her and no documents to justify his taking care of her. It would cause more problems than they already had to solve.

He was surprised as he looked up and found himself staring at his front door. He had lost track of time as he walked home, distracted by his thoughts. He pushed his musings away as he unlocked the door and entered his apartment. He flicked on the light, and dropped the shopping bag onto the low table that stood in front of his couch. Pulling out the bunny, he tore off the tag. Plushie in hand, he went down the short hallway and pushed the door to his room―_Ib's room_, he amended in his mind―open. A sliver of light came through the open door and he could see the Ib-sized lump of blanket. It expanded slightly and deflated at the soft sounds of her breath. He tiptoed over to the bed, peeling the blanket off the small girl just slightly. He pushed the rabbit into her arms and watched as her grip automatically tightened around it. Nodding in satisfaction, he moved back to the doorway. He pulled the door closed slowly, cringing as the hinges creaked deafeningly over the silence. But Ib did not stir. He shuffled to his closet, grabbing night clothes and went to the bathroom to change.

As he settled down for bed he frowned. He did not have time to speak with her today. He knew she would press him to confide in her again when she had the chance. Shifting to become comfortable on the old couch, he brushed the thought away. _Tomorrow_, he told himself as he fell asleep.

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><p>Garry exhaled a great whoosh of air as he was woken by a very happy Ib jumping onto him. He propped himself up on his elbows as he blinked the sleep out of his eyes. And there was Ib, who had shifted to sit on his lap after her initial hop onto his stomach. He took in her sparkling eyes, wide smile, and arms wrapped snug around the stuffed bunny with a grin.<p>

"You like it then?"

She nodded vigorously, bringing the bunny up to snuggle it against her cheek.

As he looked down at her, he realized that she too had just woken. Her hair was messy and she still wore his t-shirt―they had forgotten to buy pajamas on their little shopping excursion―which dwarfed her small stature. Sitting up fully, he yawned and stretched.

"Well, since we're both up, why don't we make breakfast?"

Clad in their pajamas, they went to the kitchen. Since their first week back he had made sure to always have food in the refridgerator. He taught Ib to scramble eggs, though he cooked them. He taught her to measure out the pancake mix and water. They both got a good laugh by the time they were finished. Garry had gotten his as Ib got splattered with pancake batter. Ib was given hers as Garry's distraction allowed the popping of the bacon in the pan to surprise him, causing him to stumble backward with an awkward squawk in surprise. Giggling, Ib had hopped onto him, where he lay on the floor. By the end, they had a grand breakfast, smiles on their faces, and pancake batter on their night clothes. Luckily for Ib's fluffy new friend, she had left him on the couch, well outside of the splatter zone.

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><p>Garry was sitting at the park, idly flicking his lighter on and off. It was a nervous habit he had picked up. He had quit smoking by the time he met Ib, but it was a recent thing then and muscle memory caused him to pocket it every time he left his home. After the Gallery, he just felt better having it on him. He picked up the now empty ziploc bag and granola bar wrapper and stuffed them into the paper bag before balling them up and tossing them into the trash can. He slouched on the bench, fully intending to enjoy the sun and quiet before her returned to work from his lunch break. He closed his eyes.<p>

Minutes later, he heard the sound of footsteps on the gravel. The sound increased in volume until he was sure the person was right beside him. Then he heard the rustle of clothing and the brightness of his eyelids from the sun disappeared. Confused, he opened his eyes. He saw only red, and it took him a minute to realize he was looking at the inside of an umbrella. He turned to the owner, who was sitting close beside him. It was a woman in long white dress. She had long straight black hair.

"Hello," he stated, uncertainly.

She turned towards him and smiled. "Good afternoon. Lovely day we're having, isn't it?"

"Yeah," he agreed awkwardly, eyes flicking upwards towards the umbrella of their own volition.

She followed his gaze and laughed. "It's not that odd, is it? An umbrella may have been made to shield from the rain, but it works just as well as a parasol."

"That makes sense, I guess."

She continued, "Besides, I never go anywhere without it."

He blinked in surprise. "Never?"

"Not anymore anyway. I lost it once. A kind girl returned it to me. A pretty precious little thing. Quiet as a mouse and when she spoke her voice was soft and kind. And she had such an affinity for red! My favorite color, you know," she concluded, gesturing up at her vivid red umbrella.

A smile came to his face, unbidden. "Sounds like someone I know."

She grinned right back, a knowing gleam in her eye. "I'll bet. I'd so like to see her again."

"Maybe you will someday."

"After meeting you, I'd say it's more likely than not."

He frowned, confused. "Why?"

"Doesn't matter," she stated and hopped up from the seat happily. "It was nice meeting you, Garry."

He sat up. "How did you know my name?"

"It's on your nametag," her answer had a distinct undertone of laughter.

"Oh," he murmured looking down at the nametag on his vest.

"Have a good day," she said and turned to walk away.

"Umm... Goodbye."

He shrugged off the niggling feeling of familiarity the sight of her walking away inspired and began his walk back to work.

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><p>AN: Yay, this is out earlier than I expected! I hope you are all enjoying this. In this chapter we got some happy Ib, which we haven't gotten nearly enough of. I'd like to think the story itself is progressing smoothly at a good pace. I apologize for any typos, my spellcheck for my word processor hasn't been working properly for weeks. I'm sure you all know who that was at the end.

Thanks for staying with me through this journey, oh so lovely readers!

Until next time friendlies,

_Dfsemina_


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own Ib.

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><p>Colorless<p>

Chapter 4

He stopped at the entrance and looked down at Ib. She met his gaze with excited eyes and a smile. She looked happier than she had in weeks, eyes sparkling and rosy cheeks. All he could feel was guilt because, regardless of her happy expression, the image looked incredibly lonely. Little Ib who could not go to school, who needed to stay cooped up in his dingy apartment. A tiny excursion, if this could even qualify as that, and she was glowing.

"You work here?"

He nodded in reply. He could delay no longer and moved to push open the door. The restaurant was small but warm. As always, there were few customers. Regulars who came for good service and the welcoming quiet atmosphere away from the fast-paced life outside. Nervously, he crouched down in front of Ib, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles on her shoulders. She had opted to wear her best outfit, the only clothes from before they had escaped. Hand now free from Garry's grasp, she had moved both of her arms to clutch her bunny and book to her chest.

"Time to meet the boss," he said, trying and failing to sound confident.

He placed a hand between her shoulders and led her behind the counter. The large male dressed in a button-up and slacks was turned away from them, speaking to a waiter. Garry trembled slightly as he waited for their conversation to end. Finally, the waiter nodded and, with a quick glance spared to gaze at Garry and then Ib, walked away. The boss turned to find himself looking straight into the eyes of Garry.

"What?" he asked, voice gruff.

"U-umm...," he stammered. "I want you to... I mean... This is..."

Ib moved forward, shifting her things into the cradle of her left arm. She smiled up at him reassuringly before bringing herself to the heavy set man's attention.

"Hello. My name is Ib," she stated in her soft, confident voice.

She held out her right hand. His boss stared at the offered hand, a perplexed look upon his face. He looked to Garry briefly before returning his attention to the child. Ib continued to look up at him expectantly. After an uncomfortably long moment of staring at each other, his boss finally grasped her small hand in his and shook it.

"Tony Burton."

"Nice to meet you."

"Likewise."

Satisfied, she stepped back so she was once again beside her companion. They both turned to Garry for the necessary explanation.

"Good morning, Mr. Burton," he said, wincing as his voice squeaked. He cleared his throat and continued, "I'm taking care of Ib here and I would really appreciate it if she could hang around here during my shifts. I'd hate leaving her at home alone."

He conveniently left out the fact that he had been doing exactly that for a while now. Mr Burton regarded him with narrowed eyes and he tried not to squirm. Then, he gave a curt nod and walked away. Garry let out a relieved exhale and led Ib to a small table beside a window. He picked her up and placed her onto the too tall chair. She grinned up at him, placing the bunny on her lap. From its seat upon her legs, it's black button eyes barely reached over the surface of the table. Apparently she deemed that good enough and set the book into the table with a small thud. She opened it up to the first page. Garry smiled at the sight. Ruffling her hair, he excused himself and went to begin his work for the day.

* * *

><p>It was almost time for lunch when Mrs Burton came out of the kitchens to greet him. She was the polar opposite of her husband. Petite and openly kind. The welcoming sort. She would often soothe the staff's frazzled nerves from working with her intimidating husband.<p>

"Hello, Garry. How are you today?"

"I'm doing well, Mrs Burton. And you?"

"Fine, dear. Just fine."

"Can I help you with anything?"

"No, no. I'm fine," she assured him. "But I'd love to hear about the little one sitting at one of our tables."

"Oh, umm. That's Ib. I'm taking care of her for a while."

"Yes, I gathered that from Tony."

"Her parents are out of town. I was the only one available to take her. Sorry for the inconvenience."

"No inconvenience at all, dear. But shouldn't she be in school."

"O-oh. Umm," he floundered. He didn't have a lie for that.

Her smile dropped. "I won't ask too many questions, but please tell me you're _supposed_ to have her."

He sighed, "Her parents are missing. No other family to speak of. No records of her either. I can't enroll her without some sort of record. They might take her away from me."

"Oh my." She nodded slowly, processing the new information. "Okay, Garry. She's welcome here anytime."

He smiled in relief. "Thanks."

She waved off his gratitude. "Why don't you go on your lunch break? I'll take care of her. I'd like to get to know her since I'll probably be seeing her often from now on."

He nodded and pulled off his apron. "I'll be back before my break is over. I want to spend some time with her too."

* * *

><p>He was sitting on the same bench as usual. He had begun to doze off when he was startled awake by a hello. He looked up to see the woman he'd met the day before. She was in a long dress again, though this time it was yellow. Her red umbrella was open, shielding her from the sun as before. She at beside him, shifting her umbrella to provide shade for them both.<p>

"How are you today Garry?"

"I'm fine. How are you Miss... I'm sorry, I don't think I ever caught your name."

She laughed, a tinkling sound like wind chimes. "I'm fine, thank you Garry. As for my name, I don't have one."

He sat up in surprise at the odd answer. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I have a _title_, I suppose. But me, as I am right now, I don't have a _name_."

"Oh. That... makes no sense at all."

She merely laughed.

"What's your… ummm…. title then?

"My title is exactly what I am."

"I still don't get it."

Grinning playfully, she replied, "In either case, think of one for me. People need names. Maybe you'll have one by the next time we meet. Ask your little friend even."

"Little friend?"

"Last time we talked about the sweetest child who had done me a great service. You said that you could relate. I assumed that meant you had a precious little friend of your own."

"...I do," he admitted reluctantly.

She seemed to know too much. He did not believe her assumptions were such at all. His name and now her knowledge of Ib. Not to mention the riddles she brought forth. There was something odd here.

He told her, "I'm not sure I trust you."

She looked him in the eye, more serious than he had ever seen her yet. "Good. Be careful who you trust."

He sat up, alarmed. "Who shouldn't I trust?"

She did not answer his question. Instead, she posed one of her own. "Isn't it about time you returned to work?"

Looking down at his watch, he was startled to realize she was right. He jumped up and mumbled a hasty apology. He ran back to work, leaving her sitting on the bench alone.

* * *

><p>AN: Well, I'm very happy to have been able to pump out another chapter. Things of importance happened but I've also established some setting here. Thank you all for reading this!

Until next time friendlies,

_Dfsemina_


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own Ib.

* * *

><p>Colorless<p>

Chapter 5

It became a routine. One that could be considered happy. After bringing her to work with him that first time, he could not bring himself to leave her home alone ever again. On days he had school, he took her with him. He ignored the odd looks the first few times he did this. She looked out of place in the huge lecture hall, but she was quiet and respectful. Her presence never seemed to be a problem to his professors. He would, of course, bring Ib with him to work. He would do his job while Ib slowly made her way through the book. It was higher than her grade level and, smart though she was, it took her time. Mrs Burton would always make time for Ib, bringing her meals and chatting. The talk that Garry promised was lost and forgotten as they settled into the changes. Garry continued to spend part of his lunch break at the park. The nameless woman always came.

She was cheerful each time and unfailingly polite. But Garry could always feel a sort of tension. A sense of something being off. It took him a while to realize that the content of their conversations was always the same. Aside from the greetings and farewells, it always revolved around the same thing. She'd twirl her umbrella in her hands and talk happily of the "precious little girl" who had returned it to her. She admitted that her own interaction with the girl was minimal, likening herself with a minor character in what she promised was an incredible story. She had painstakingly pieced together the story from others, some who supported her, those who sought to bring her harm, and others who saw her as a distraction but nothing more. Over weeks, she told him the tale of her personal pint-sized it all, Garry listened.

She weaved a story of a little girl lost. Of a girl spirited away and kept captive. Of a small child who persevered. A good girl who helped a tall stranger. An innocent girl who welcomed an enemy as a friend. A clever girl that solved riddles. She told him the story of a child who found herself striking down a friend who was not a friend, a traitor. She told him the story of a girl who escaped. The story ended with freedom, bittersweet with loss. She'd won the twisted game but ended up alone save for the stranger who became a friend.

The tale sounded familiar.

And each time, without fail, as she came to the end of her recount of one of the many adventures the small child had in this foreign land, she would bring the story back to the present. She would wonder aloud how the "precious child"━━always "precious child" or the "precious little girl," she never referred to her as anything else━was doing now.

"I should ask the stranger how she is," she would say, an odd undertone of laughter in her voice.

She would turn to him with a smile then, though he always felt like he was missing the joke. She would inquire about his own "precious one." He never offered up much information. The woman was kind, but he still felt as if something was off. Something strange as he looked at her. Something abnormal when she spoke of herself. And Garry was nothing if not protective of his little Ib.

It was glaringly obvious that their conversations had all been the same in content after her story, with all its little adventures, came to an end. The first day after, there had been the typical polite greeting. But then they found themselves sitting in silence. The time crawled by without her stories. She merely sat, looking off into the distance. Garry watched her carefully, as he always did, trying to place what was wrong about this woman. Through the time he'd known her she had been smiles and happiness and playfulness. But now, though there was a smile upon her face, her mood seemed more subdued. And thinking back, he was startled to learn it had been a gradual thing. It was only because he watched her so carefully that he realized that her cheerfulness, at least in part, was a lie. He watched as her lower lip trembled just slightly for a moment before she pulled it into her normal wide smile, lips stretched so that it halted the involuntary movement. The subtle sharp raise of her shoulders as in a hiccup and a sudden glassiness of her eyes, before she turned her head towards the sun, covering up the blinking away of tears with the excuse of blinking away brightness. She was sad.

So, suspicious though he was, he wanted to help this stranger who had been kind to him. As the time for him to leave came closer, she reverted to their normal conversation. The question of the well-being of the "precious child" was posed before she turned to him to ask after the health of his friend. He could have sworn he heard her voice crack. So as she stood to leave and turned away, he made her an offer.

"Would you like to meet Ib?"

She turned to face him, surprised. "What?"

"Would you like to meet her? My," he paused awkwardly. "'precious one'?"

She smiled and it was warmer than any she had offered him thus far. "I'd love to."

* * *

><p>Garry caught Mrs. Burton by the arm. "Thanks for keeping Ib company during the first half of my break all the time."<p>

She waved away his thanks. "Oh, no trouble. She's an adorable child."

"She's pretty fond of you too," he stated with a grin. "I'd hate to keep her from you but I was hoping you could do without her company during lunch today?"

She sighed dramatically. "I suppose so, though I'll be all by my lonesome."

A snort was heard and they turned towards the sound. They barely caught her husband rolling his eyes. She left Garry's side to stand with him. From where he stood, he could hear his gravelly voice and the lilting voice of his wife, and though they were just mumbles, he could hear the obvious affection in their tones. It never failed to amaze him how the gruff man who was his boss softened so drastically when attending to his wife. He left them to their privacy and sought out Ib.

She was coloring with the four crayons that came with the children's menus. He was amused to note that while she'd been meticulous with staying within the lines, none of her color choices made sense. The previously black and white page of a forest now looked like an outtake from the nonsensical world of _Alice in Wonderland_. He wondered absently whether she had finally finished the story and if it had any influence on her picture at all. Blue trees and grass. Purple water. Red tree trunks and lime green tiger. He waited patiently for her to finish coloring the last boulder green before interrupting her.

He tapped her shoulder. "Hey, Ib. How would you like to spend all of lunch with me today?"

She perked up before glancing away from him. He followed her gaze to where Mr. and Mrs. Burton were still talking.

"Mrs Burton assured me she'd be fine."

She smiled and hopped down from her chair, one arm around the stuffed bunny. She gripped his hand and he led her out of the restaurant.

"I've been meeting with a… friend. Last time I saw her, she was sad. I thought meeting you would help cheer her up."

She looked up at him worriedly. "What if I can't?"

He ruffled her hair reassuringly, grinning as she pouted and fixed it. "Don't worry. You'll do great. I mean, you never fail to cheer _me _up. Remember when I was studying for finals?"

She grinned. She had tried to make him a meal. She had to climb the countertop just to be able to reach everything. Everything had gone fine until the end. There had been a mishap as she attempted to put the ingredients away. Garry had entered the kitchen after the resulting crash to a perfect plate of pancakes and eggs, and a surprised Ib who'd fallen into the sink. One hand was still holding the box of pancake mix, though it seemed most of it had spilled onto her hair. The other was pressed against her chest, attempting to calm the violent pounding of her heart. One leg had hung off the counter. Her other foot had found its way into the empty mixing bowl that she'd left on the counter. The odd image had kept him laughing for a solid five minutes, easily batting away his stress.

"So are you up to it?"

She nodded determinedly.

By then they had reached the park. They sat side by side on the bench and waited for his friend to arrive. They did not have to wait long.

"Hello, Garry. And you must be Ib."

Ib smiled and nodded, patting the space beside her. The woman took the seat gracefully.

"It's nice to meet you," she said, reaching out and shaking the girl's hand. "I'm not sure if Garry told you, but I don't have a name."

Ib frowned, eyebrows knitting together in confusion before she seemed to take the statement as it was. She nodded and said, "I'm here to make you feel better."

She glanced at Garry, who had the sense to look sheepish. "Oh really now?"

A nod, her face the picture of determination. "Why are you sad?"

"A straightforward one, aren't you? Though that isn't a bad thing," she replied giving a sigh. "I want to go home."

Ib's expression darkened. She knew what that felt like. She gestured for her to go on.

"This place is nice, I suppose. But for me, it is also incredibly lonely. They want to know everything about each other, to share stories. My stories, well, I cannot share them. They expect stories of growing up, of childhood, something that I did not have. These people, I am not like them. I do not belong here. I was curious about this place for certain. But to leave home permanently? That I did not want, especially since I had to leave alone. I have someone waiting for me to return but it is taking so very long. Much longer than we had wanted to be separated."

"Who?"

That odd note of humor was in her voice again as she simply replied, "A Gentleman."

They waited for her to elaborate further. She did not. Instead, she continued.

"My home… it is very exclusive. None may leave unless others enter first. If one goes in, only one can come out. And two for two, and so on. Last time, four people came. Two of the ones who came in were also the ones to leave. The next one to leave was the Mistake. An angry man who should not have been allowed to leave. When we learned this, me and my Gentleman, we knew we had to rectify this wrong. For you see, the people who enter my home do not belong there. With only one spot left, we decided that I would be the one to take this last spot. And he would protect the two who should have left this foreign land of ours… But I have yet to find the Mistake."

* * *

><p>AN: And another chapter down! This was running a bit long so I cut it here. But don't worry, the next chapter will be up very soon. Thanks for staying with me!

Until next time friendlies,

_Dfsemina_


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own Ib.

* * *

><p>Colorless<p>

Chapter 6

The frazzled woman gratefully accepted the tray from the well dressed man. She walked over to the small table where her husband sat, head in hands. Setting the tray down, she divested it of its cups of tea and plates of cake, placing one of each in front of three of the four chairs. She immediately took the seat beside him. After a moment, the well dressed man sat down. Silence reigned until her husband sighed and reached for his cup, sipping it loudly. The other two jumped as he slammed his cup back down into the table.

"How much longer do we have to be here?" he yelled.

"I'm sorry. But I told you-"

"I know, I know. Four go in, four go out. It's not our fault that someone took our place! We don't even want to be here!"

The woman placed a hand on his arm. "Zeke, please. It isn't his fault either."

"_His _wife was one of the people who took our place!"

The Gentleman tensed in indignation. "Now see here-"

"Ezekiel Gallagher! Stop that right now! You _know _they are on our side!"

His ire cooled slightly as he turned to his wife. "Now Viv-"

"No," she stated firmly, before turning to the Gentleman. "Please pardon my husband. We know she left for our benefit."

"No, I'm sorry for allowing him to rile me up. He has ample reason to be out of sorts." Calm again, the Gentleman turned to Ezekiel and said, "Three of the spots were already taken. Would you allow your wife to leave alone? Or maybe you'd choose to be the one to leave?"

"I…," Ezekiel visibly deflated. "I just worry about our daughter."

Vivian wrapped her arms around him. "I do too. But our little girl's smart. I'm sure as soon as she realized we were gone she went to get help. She's probably safe and sound."

"I hope so," he murmured.

"I'm sure she's fine."

They both turned to look at the Gentleman. Vivian prompted, "You sound so sure."

"Well, she was with Garry. I don't imagine he'd let anything happen to her."

They met each other's eyes before Vivian asked for them both, "Garry? Who's Garry?"

"The fourth spot. Four people in, four people out, remember? You two, your daughter, and Garry."

Attention well and truly caught, Ezekiel asked, "And our Ib is safe with this Garry?"

"Of course," the Gentleman assured them. "They make a great team. Got through the Gallery quicker than any we've ever seen before. Why, at one point they took on the heads, the headless, ladies, _and _dolls all at once! In the dark!"

The two adults winced. They remembered all of those. Just running from a group of heads had almost gotten them killed. They had barely dodged they guillotine they had run them towards. They were lucky that the Gentleman had come, declaring himself their protector for as long as they were staying. As the Gentleman continued to ramble on about their daughter and this Garry and their adventures in the Gallery, they looked to each other. Reassuringly, Vivian gave her husband a small smile, eyes alight with relief. The Gentleman had not lied to them yet. Their girl was safe.

* * *

><p>The old metal fence would not give, having rusted shut long ago. With a loud creak and a great slam, the man rammed it open. The old cemetery was silent and overgrown with weeds. Those buried had no kin or none who remembered them. Even the cemetery was forgotten by all. This place was unfamiliar to the man but he came with purpose. With unmatched patience, he walked down row after row of tombstones, sledgehammer resting on his shoulder. It was a long process. He'd yank away weeds, dust off the old stones, use sticks to pry grey dirt out of the engraved names and dates. And each time he would turn away disappointed. He was here for a specific person.<p>

The sun had begun setting by the time he finally found him. The orange light did just enough to illuminate the words. Just a name, a date of birth, and a date of death.

He laughed. "No inscription? Unloved in death as you were in life! Though I _did _love you once, my friend!"

He hoisted the sledgehammer high into the air and paused. "You sought to erase me! But all you could do was vandalize me! But when I left, I gained humanity and flesh! The paint you coated upon my face washed off with ease!"

He brought the hammer down upon the stone, cracking it. Again and again until there was nothing but dust, pebbles, and stones the size of a child's fist. He stared down at the mess he made with satisfaction. He lifted the sledgehammer to rest upon his shoulder again before turning away.

As he left, he murmured, "It wasn't me. _You _were the only Mistake, Guertena."

* * *

><p>AN: Really short chapter this time, I know. The next one will be normal sized. This was more of a mini chapter to let everyone know what the others are up to. I don't know why but Ib's parents are always Vivian and Ezekiel in my head canon, as I'm sure some of you know from my story _Aftershock_. I hope you enjoyed reading this. I'm in the midst of finals so I will not be able to update for about a week.

Until next time friendlies,

_Dfsemina_


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own Ib.

* * *

><p>Colorless<p>

Chapter 7

He watched the steady rise and fall of her chest as she slept on the odd sofa. Sighing, he went to her, covering her with his coat. He pressed his lips to her forehead and left the room. Out in the hall, the Gentleman was talking to the Strained Ear in low tones. He watched as the painting faded and the Gentleman turned away, lighting his cigarette. He noticed him as he inhaled and gestured him over.

"Ah, Mr. Gallagher. Your wife retired earlier," he said, holding out the box of cigarettes to him in askance.

"No, thank you. I quit shortly after I found out Viv was pregnant with Ib," he declined. "Please, call me Ezekiel. You've been great, even if I haven't been the most cooperative."

"Ezekiel," he stated warmly. "I understand. I'm all out of sorts knowing my Lady is out without me. I can't imagine how difficult it must be for you to be separated from your daughter."

He nodded.

"Shouldn't you be asleep with your wife? You've been up for a while."

"She was asleep when I entered the room. I'm not too tired yet. And that sofa is so small, I'd wake her as I settled in beside her. She hasn't slept well even once since we got here," he paused, a thought occurring to him. "I haven't ever seen you sleep either. We've been here for months."

"Well, of course not. I don't need sleep."

"Never?" he asked incredulously.

"None of us do. We aren't _people_, Ezekiel."

"Oh," he replied awkwardly. It made sense, he supposed. It was always difficult to remember that the Gentleman was a painting.

His companion continued on oblivious to his discomfort. "I know Reserved Seat is rather small, though it is comfortable. I suppose fitting two sleeping figures on it would be a bit awkward."

"Yeah."

The Gentleman smiled at him sympathetically. "Maybe the Ladies have stopped their patrolling by now. We may be able to move back to where we were staying before. I'm sure it was much more comfortable sharing Final Stage."

"Final Stage? Oh, that diamond shaped bed? It was. But I'd rather not try going back if we might run into those vicious statues and paintings again."

Beside him, the Gentleman winced.

"Something wrong?"

"It's nothing really. You are perfectly entitled to feel that way. It's just that many of those are friends of mine."

Ezekiel's head whipped around to stare at him, shocked. "You're _friends _with those… those… monsters!"

He raised a hand to calm him. "They aren't always like that. They are as perfectly sensible as I am most of the time. It's just when people enter the gallery from the other world, things change."

"How so?" He wondered if this other world would ever make sense.

"We all know the second it happens. It's like something in the Gallery _shifts. _Some creations become volatile and obsessed with the outsiders. Some become still, becoming the lifeless artifacts you see in your world's museum. Some, like myself and my wife, don't seem to change at all. There's a range of different reactions."

He sat, digesting the new information. "So, what are they like when people from the real world are not around?"

"When people from _your_ world," he stressed, taking offense to being implied as anything less than real. "aren't around, we act much like I imagine people do. Chat, go about our business, and so on. I myself like to spend time with the Fisherman. It's very peaceful."

He shifted uncomfortably.

For an extended moment, they sat in tense silence, unsure how to deal with a being so different. They both gave a sigh of relief as a pair of lips and an ear materialized onto the wall.

"Good day, Tattletale. Welcome back, Strained Ear. What news do you bring?"

As the lips cleared its nonexistent throat, the human wondered when such occurrences ceased to be surprising.

"At the moment, all Ladies are dispersed throughout the toybox and the green and blue areas. Mannequin and Heads are scattered around the White Ant's dungeon and the Guillotine hallway. You should move to a safer area while you can."

The Gentleman nodded. "Noted. Allies?"

"An invisible painter has repainted the lost areas of the Brown Liar's canvas. The painter remains neutral. The liar is on your side."

"A liar?" Ezekiel stated incredulously, looking to the Gentleman in askance.

Acknowledging the validity of the human's question, he prompted, "How are we sure he is trustworthy?"

"He is the odd one out of the seven. His injuries were inflicted by the other six after helping the little person and her purple haired friend leave."

" 'Little person?' You mean my daughter? He helped Ib?"

An eye appeared beside the pair of lips and regarded him silently for a moment. Then, the lips spoke. "The little human who looks like a mini version of the one who travels with you? Is that her title? Yes, he gave her the means to open the door."

"Was she-"

The Gentleman cut him off with a hand to the arm. "No time. Later, when we're secure."

He turned back to the wall and asked again, "Allies?"

"In addition to the Brown Liar, we have the stickman from the hide and seek room, both from Tryst After Death, the Bride and Groom, and the white snake. The Fisherman and the Coughing Man will only help if you are in their respective areas. The ants will give information for sweets. The Hanged Man is also willing to provide information, but only in riddles. The dolls are wild cards now that their creator has been destroyed. Everyone else seems to be on the fence."

"Thank you, my friend."

The three facial features disappeared simultaneously.

He sighed and turned to Ezekiel. "Sorry, it looks like Vivian won't get her rest tonight either. Go wake her. We may not get another chance to move."

"Right."

* * *

><p>Ib traced the water droplet's path as it slid down the diner window. It was raining mercilessly and the streets were empty. The diner, however, was full. She'd never seen such a huge crowd occupying the small unremarkable structure. It seemed the employees from various businesses in the area had ducked into the little diner for shelter, planning to wait out the storm. She guessed that the heavy rain must be advantageous to the Burtons' business though it definitely added to the workload. She had not been able to exchange single word with Gary or either of the Burtons for the last couple of hours. The morning had been sedate as always but the weather had worsened and the workday had ended, leaving the staff without a moment's rest.<p>

Her concentration on racing rain drops down the glass was broken as the people from the table beside her all stood at once to leave. She had not noticed the storm calm. The rain continued to pour but had softened enough for the customers to brave the drive home. Soon, the diner was as empty as usual, only regulars remaining. The staff continued scurrying about, cleaning up. She hopped down from her chair to climb onto another from a recently vacated table. Carefully, she began tidying up, stacking cups and plates. Then she moved to the next one. As she began cleaning up a third table, the busboy, Ricky, came by, gently ruffling her hair and thanking her for the help. As she struggled to fix her hair, she noticed something shiny on the floor, wedged under a leg of a table.

The light had reflected off of the back of a glossy card. Tugging it gently out from under the table's leg, she stood and flipped it over. Then froze.

Garish yellow pants and liquid grey shirt. A square of white with four numbers stretched across the chest. Grey hair reaching towards the floor by the pull of gravity. Blackness where the eyes should be. She stared as if waiting to be startled by red filling the dark pits of the eyes, as they had greeted her in the gallery. A tarot card. The Hanged Man.

* * *

><p>AN: A bit on the short side but this seemed like a good place to stop. Glad to finally get this up. Thanks for staying with me throughout my fic dear readers and reviewers. Hope you enjoyed it.

Until next time friendlies,

_Dfsemina_


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own Ib.

* * *

><p>Colorless<p>

Chapter 8

Garry had regarded the card warily. But he did not begrudge her the option of keeping it. That night, she dreamed.

_The sound of scraping deafening in her ears, from the frames of paintings, sculptures dragging their feet across the floor. Creepy, but for the most part harmless, mannequin heads. Ladies and headless mannequins everywhere. And the odd one out in the room of women. The Hanged Man, eyes glowing red. An upside down password and slamming the door shut behind them. Trying and failing to ignore the banging and screeching that they left behind. _

Area after area, more like watching a memory than being in a dream. She had not seen the gallery so clearly since the day she was actually present within it.

_Two paths. A locked door and a room full of bunnies. A single painting at the fork. Separation. Vines as unbreakable as metal and just as cold emerging from the floor below. Leaving Garry behind. _Just for a moment, _she thought. _Just for a little bit.

_Lights flicker off, then back on. Door locked. Keep moving forward. Further from Garry. _

_A new area. So, so far from Garry now. Red mist that made her cough, but not Mary. A fisherman. A painting of lips. Mary asking questions about leaving. Who would she leave behind? _No one_, she thought and answered. _Myself. _Heads on tables and a painting. A room right above where Garry was choking on familiar red mist._

She woke up without seeing the painting clearly.

* * *

><p>The routine changed. But not by much. The nameless woman disappeared as suddenly as she had appeared.<p>

They continued going to their bench on Garry's breaks. The sun burned their eyes, unhindered by the familiar red umbrella. There was tension as they sat now. Uncomfortable silence. Because even though the lady had seemed off, they just knew she was important. It made them uneasy and worried. She had become something of a friend. A sense that something big was coming, of change, had them both on edge. This sense, a gut feeling, had them paranoid, no longer allowing the other to leave their sight for more than a moment. They had learned to trust their instincts in the Gallery.

Ib ran her fingers down the lanyard around her neck, pausing to trace the letters of Garry's school. Her hand slid lower to tug and twist at the ID tag that dangled in front of her stomach. Garry had noticed the transference of Ib fiddling with her scarf to fiddling with the useless old lanyard he had gotten at freshman orientation a couple years ago. Looking back, he remembered when she had stopped wearing her scarf, the weather having warmed too much to justify its place on her person. He remembered how gingerly she had hung it up, whispering a soft 'I'll be right back, Daddy,' that was more air than vocalization. He remembered how she would bring her hand to her chest afterward, fingers scraping softly against the fabric of her shirt. How she would frown and look down. How she would bite her lip and pick at her shirt, or button, if it had any. It was obviously an ingrained habit and he wondered if the scarf was the only present her father had given her that went around her neck. He contemplated buying her a necklace. It would cheer her up, distract her from the foreboding feeling that they seemed seemed to follow them now. And hopefully it would make her leave his lanyard and, more importantly, what was in the ID tag at home.

The Hanged Man glared at him through the transparent plastic of the tag. It mocked him with shameful reminders of cowardice and promises of insanity.

"-rry?"

He shook himself, startled into awareness. He raised his eyes to meet the concerned gaze of his companion.

He forced a smile. "Sorry. Spaced out a bit there. What did you say?"

The furrow between her brows deepened. "I asked if you were okay."

"Yeah."

"You're lying to me." A sad statement.

"I-I'm not," he insisted, wincing as he stuttered.

She ignored his reply. "You said you'd let me help. You said that you'd talk to me."

"I figured it out," he replied quickly, the pitch if his voice abnormally high.

He expected anger, petulance at being brushed off. A temper tantrum like a normal child. Maybe even the teenager's shrug of dismissal, allowing him to keep his secret. He received neither.

Her expression told of nothing but disappointment and her next words drove the feeling home.

"I told you what was bothering me."

He could almost believe he could taste the agony that flowed through her words and shined in her sad eyes. She just wanted to help. It was all she ever wanted to do.

His mind raced. He wanted to reassure her. He wanted to change the subject. A million phrases darted through his mind that would allow him to accomplish just that.

But what came out of his mouth was this:

"I don't want to go back..."

He hunched over, fixing his gaze firmly to the ground. Though he did not say it, they both heard the end. To the Gallery. A pause. Then, a comforting little hand placed on his shoulder that made him flinch. He did not look up. But he could hear her clothes rustle as she retracted her hand and sat up straight.

"You don't want to go back," she repeated softly. And he could tell she would work it out.

He said nothing.

She hopped off the bench and turned towards him. Standing in front of his still hunched over form, she looked down at the back of his head.

"You don't _want _to go back," she said again, voice rising in volume slightly.

He did not move an inch.

"You mean… you don't plan on going back."

He curled deeper into himself. And she knew then she was right.

"But… but… Garry, you promised. You said it, remember? 'We'll get them back, I promise.' You say it every day."

He looked up then. She sounded so broken.

"Ib, listen. Sometimes, you have to cut your losses. We don't know how to get back in. We barely got out the first time. They've been gone for months. There's no guarantee that we'll find them. Or if they…," he trailed off.

"If they what, Garry?"

"If they will even be there for us to find. If they are even worth us finding. If they are even… alive."

There were tears in her eyes now, but she was not crying yet.

"We have to try, Garry."

He shook his head. "We're doing okay, aren't we? We take good care of each other. We'll find a way to enroll you in school. I'm almost done with my undergrad. I have an okay job for now and it's a bit of a squeeze in my apartment but we've been handling it, right? I don't want you back in that place. I can protect you better out here. I'm sure your parents would agree—"

_Slap!_

She had gotten stronger. It hurt a lot more than it did the last time.

_Slap!_

Though he had expected anger before, he had never seen it on Ib. But the fierceness of her eyes and stance could not be mistaken.

Her mouth opened and closed soundlessly, incoherent with fury.

_Slap!_

Trembling but under control now, she glared at him.

She spoke clearly, indignantly, "You don't get to use me as an _excuse _to leave my parents there."

She spun, walking away before he could even register what had happened. He hopped up from the bench, jogging to catch up. He prepared to call out, to attempt to calm her down. He wanted to at least make sure she did not go off on her own and get lost. Then he realized she was walking the path back to the diner. He followed after her at a distance, hoping that giving her space would allow her to calm down. As they entered the establishment, she went to her table by the window and he went back to work, without exchanging a word.

She remained at her table through the rest of his shift, staring out the window. He did not speak to her. He worked distractedly, eyes always darting up to look at her small still figure. He was sure the lasting rigidity of her posture would make her sore later. He pointedly ignored the piercing gaze of his boss and brushed off Mrs. Burton's concerned questioning with a sad smile and a whispered 'She's a bit angry with me.' His shift passed by slowly.

When he came to take her home, she shifted away from his outstretched arms. She struggled down from the too tall chair without looking at him at all. She allowed him to push the heavy door open, not even having to duck under his arm as she slipped out. She was so small. He could feel the lump in his throat, the stabbing pain in his chest, as she continued to give him the cold shoulder. He comforted himself with the fact that at least this time, she walked beside him. With the foreboding feeling that he had been carrying since the Lady had disappeared, it was calming to have her just within arm's reach on the now dark streets. But she did not hold his hand.

They climbed the stairs to their apartment. Ib still would not meet his eyes. He took in her tense form, arms crossed and head down. He did not know how long he stood there—keys hanging loosely from limp fingers—just staring at her, but it was apparently too long. Ever so slightly she lifted her head, still not facing him but no longer fixated on the floor. And a firm sentence in her naturally soft voice that simmered with quiet anger. "Open the door, Garry."

He did so and she slipped through before the door was even opened fully. The deafening sound of the bedroom door slamming was echoing through the apartment by the time he had set his first foot passed the threshold. He locked the door and changed out of his work clothes before walking down the short hallway to stand in front of the bedroom door. He hesitated for only a moment then knocked on the door. After an extended moment with no answer, he opened the door.

She was sitting on the floor, the notepad he gave her in her hand. She pulled page after page off and set them spread out on the floor in front of her. As she placed down the last page with writing from the pad, she sat back and stared at the pages on the floor. It was odd, seeing her stiff angry figure morph into a despairing hunched form. The first sharp inhale was soft, barely audible. Then another, louder. Again and again until she was letting out hiccuping sobs. He looked over her shoulder to look at the pages.

The lump in his throat doubled in size.

The lines were crooked and words were misspelled. But what he was looking at was obvious. A map, blueprints of the place he hated so much. Lines in crayon that matched the colors of the walls in each of the area. And all of them were there. Green area, blue area, and red. All the way to the dull grey In-Between Gallery where Guertena's creations were inanimate but there were still no people to be found. Paintings and sculptures marked from memory and labelled.

He should have known. Of course she would be planning. Her sad looks at the mementos from her parents had never been resigned. She had always lifted her chin defiantly. It had never been a question, not for her. She was getting her parents back. The fleeting moments of doubt had always been brushed away by his promise. To him, empty words of reassurance to tide her over until she accepted the loss. To her, affirmations to her family's successful reunion.

He sat down behind her. He let out a little sigh of relief when she did not resist as he pulled her into his arms. Ib turned in his lap, burrowing her head into his chest. Her cries gradually subsided. Finally, she looked up at him.

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

"I'm sorry too."

"I was scared… I'm still scared."

"I know. Me too."

"I didn't mean to…," he trailed off.

"You weren't lying."

And she was right. Despite using her as justification for not returning, he really _did _want to keep her safe. Though he had never met her parents, Ib knew that they would rather she stay out and safe with Garry.

Garry stood, setting her on her feet. He jerked his chin towards the kitchen, silently asking if she was ready for dinner. As she nodded and placed her hand in his, they both smiled.

No secrets. Complete trust.

They were finally back to normal.

* * *

><p>AN: Here's the new chapter! Took me a while to get this to come out the way I wanted but it's finally out. I hope you all enjoy it.

Until next time friendlies,

_Dfsemina_


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